


Amuse Bouche

by IncurableNecromantic



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Gay Monsters, M/M, Monster porn, Other, possibly the only gay monster porn story with a daylight savings time joke, squid mouth, trust me the squid mouth is very sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5173802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncurableNecromantic/pseuds/IncurableNecromantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enoch manifests something special for an evening and has some suggestions on how to enjoy it.  The Beast takes his advice and a good time is had by all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amuse Bouche

The Beast wasn’t hardly in the barn when Enoch started talking.  “I have a surprise.”

The Beast looked up at Enoch with a vague kind of trepidation. He wished he could’ve read something in Enoch’s broad smile, but it was as always a futile endeavor. He had no basis of comparison to determine Enoch’s moods on sight. Enoch was very rarely not smiling at him.

“You may be disappointed, Harvest King. I don’t have a good history with surprises,” he said.

Enoch laughed at him in a breathy kind of way. A tendril curled around his ankle and stroked his leg. “I’m well aware of that, Lord of the Wastes. Perhaps ‘surprise’ isn’t precisely the right term for this. Think of this more as…an experiment.“

“An experiment.”

“Something new,” Enoch added. The smell of caramel bloomed into being, and the Beast stammered on the scent. “You could even think of it as a special treat. Just for you.“

”Oh,“ the Beast said. He leaned forward a little, souls in a jangle. He liked the things Enoch gave him. "Well. How very thoughtful of you.”

Enoch made another little breathy laugh and pushed himself away from the rafters, ripping a new pair of feelers as he went. He settled himself up on the hayloft and tilted his head at the Beast. His smile changed, darker, stranger, and the Beast’s eyes widened and his body swayed a bit as the caramel smell boiled and turned the air to liqueur. Enoch was excited.

Enoch was intoxicating, when he was excited.

An inexplicably warm tendril reached out and slid along the Beast’s jaw. The Beast shivered a little and tilted his head for it. It skated across his face and he watched as it retreated, curling up at him and beckoning him forward.

“Why don’t you come up here,” Enoch said, making himself comfortable in the hayloft, “and I can show you what I’m talking about?”

The Beast made the jump and set his lantern down in a little out of the way spot. He skulked towards the Lord of Pottsfield, his nervous tension both soothed and exacerbated by the scent in the air.

Enoch shifted, drawing half of his tendrils up into the hayloft with him. He nudged himself back against a pile of hay and gave the Beast a particularly crooked smile. "You’re going to have to do a little work for it, I’m afraid.“

“That sounds like you,” the Beast admitted, approaching. "You’re not happy unless you’ve got someone working for you.“

A few tendrils curled and relaxed, as if amused. The Beast stood nearby and took up a handful of ribbons, idly petting and inspecting them. Several more curled around the lower parts of his legs, stroking softly.

“Hmm,” he said aloud. "A gift, is it? One you frame as a surprise. I wonder you’re hiding it.“

“I’ve given you a hint,” Enoch purred.

He was not wrong. Only half the tendrils were in the hayloft. That wasn’t like Enoch at all.

The Beat moved close and reached for the place where Enoch’s head met his ribbons. He felt the shiver that wracked his neighbor and hummed his own pleasure, carding his fingers through the tendrils. So long, so soft…made from some fabric native to Pottsfield, grass and cornsilk and cobwebs, woven into strong, nubile streamers. They slipped smoothly across the pocked and torn surface of the Beast’s hands, and the Beast picked them gently away, scenting the air for any other hints.

The liqueur scent was strongest just beneath Enoch’s head. In the course of his petting, the Beast diligently unwound a tangled nest’s worth of streamers, seeking his answer. He slipped the linch-ribbon of the knot free and the tangle unsnarled, and the Beast stared at what he’d found as Enoch released a warm, contented hum.

“I am,” the Beast admitted, “surprised.”

Enoch laughed at him, but the thing the Beast had uncovered didn’t move. The Beast watched as the chitinous thing broke down the center, one sharp overhang parting from the bottom portion. Something deep inside him ached as a long, wet piece of muscle peeped out from between two panels of dark bone and ran around the rim on the the thing.

Enoch opened it up further, stretching the thing wide at its edges, and the bone – beak, the Beast supposed it must be – retracted into Enoch’s skin. The muscle darted back inside and Enoch tilted just a bit, enough to let Beast get a good look at him.

Beneath the beak was a red hole, and its muscular walls gleamed wetly between the rows and rows of white, bony fangs glinting in the dim light of the barn.

“Oh,” the Beast said, his tone embarrassingly urgent. “Enoch…”

“I don’t always have it,” Enoch said, and the hole didn’t move, “but I thought perhaps you and I could make some use of it tonight.”

The Beast reached a hand towards it, hesitant, before retreating. He hadn’t been given permission to touch.

“Oh, yes,” the Beast breathed. “Yes, I think we can find _something_ to do with it…”

Enoch chuckled and drew up a tendril, letting it run around the rim of the hole. He hummed softly, apparently enjoying the touch.

The Beast stared, eyes burning in his head, as the tendil reached in and brushed across the teeth. Enoch made a soft, needy little noise as it tapped one row of teeth and then another. The white protrusions sank into the muscular walls as if they’d never been there at all, and the muscles quivered.

“There,” Enoch said in a tone that was not casual. “Couldn’t bear to think of scraping you.”

“May I touch it?” the Beast asked.

Enoch used that caressing tendril to reach out and take the Beast’s hand around the wrist, drawing it forward. “Yes, of course.”

The Beast carefully ran his fingers around the edge of the hole. It was as hot and as wet as a fresh wound, and he wondered that it didn’t steam when it came in contact with his fingers. Enoch made a sound that made the Beast’s eyes burn, and his hole scorched wet against the Beast’s touch.

Enoch shuddered a little as he dipped his fingers deeper inside and stroked the soft red walls, and the Beast wondered if it was the cold or the pressure that had caused that shiver. The Beast massaged him gently and Enoch positively wriggled beneath his fingers.

“It’s sensitive,” the Beast concluded.

“Extremely,” Enoch affirmed.

“I suppose I should get to manifesting, too, hmm?” the Beast asked quietly, stroking a few ribbons with his other hand. “Is there a shape you’d prefer?”

“I think I could really use a nice, thick branch, just about here.” One of Enoch’s tendrils dipped down and ran around the rim of one of the holes near the Beast’s hips, mimicking the touches Enoch had bestowed on himself. The Beast groaned quietly and stroked the walls of Enoch’s hole again.

“Are we mimicking humans?” the Beast asked. The thought was less repulsive than it was strange. He knew that couldn’t be right. He should be aghast at the very notion.

He blamed the liqueur.

“Oh, no, not really,” Enoch replied. The Beast didn’t believe him. “We are just experimenting a bit, after all. Now, please, if you wouldn’t mind giving me a little hardwood to work with?”

The Beast attempted to focus, but it took him a few tries to grow the extra branch in a place that wasn’t hopelessly inconvenient. It took some attention to get it into a state where it could be used for anything productive, but with Enoch’s ribbons wrapped around it, coaxing and rubbing it into the kind of smooth, oily thing it ought to be, that tasked proved to easier than the initial manifesting had been.

“Will that do?” the Beast asked, voice shaky as Enoch teased and stroked him and lightly flirted at the mouths of his holes.

“Oh, yes,” Enoch murmured. “I think that will be more than sufficient.”

By means of a few very persuasive tendrils, Enoch soon had the Beast on his back. Enoch levered himself up and pressed against the lower half of the Beast’s body, pressing the smoothed tip of the branch against his hole.

He sank down on it in one perfect motion. Beneath him, the Beast tensed and tried not to thrash.

“Oh,” Enoch breathed. Satisfaction billowed into the air and made the timbers of the barn sigh. The Beast hissed.

Hot and slick, the hole dripped scorching ooze down onto the Beast’s body. The Beast shuddered, startled and thrilled by the way Enoch burned soft and slick around him.

Enoch shifted and clamped down on him, holding him in a grip both tight and impossibly plush. The Beast jerked like a spooked animal, astonished to find himself broken and ensnared and owned so easily, and so happily.

“That’s so good,” Enoch purred. “Does that feel nice, turtle dove?”

The Beast made some kind of stupid sound. He trusted that Enoch caught his drift.

Enoch gently laughed at him, before getting a few tendrils underneath him and pushing. He hitched himself up the branch, the tightened hole pulled lightly on the Beast as Enoch rose, as if it didn’t want to let him get away. The Beast made a little croak of a sound as Enoch pressed back down on him, swallowing him up again.

“H-Harvest King…”

“You’re so cold and hard inside me, sugar,” Enoch murmured. “Like…mmm, wet ice.”

He couldn’t be ice, not for very much longer. He was melting, burned alive. At this rate he was going to vaporize.

“Is it enough?” he asked. A stupid, stupid question. Enoch was going to think he was an imbecile. But he wanted to please him, and if the branch had to be bigger, or harder…

“Oh, yes,” Enoch murmured, grinding against him and rubbing the Beast’s branch against the walls of his hole, as if he just liked feeling the Beast so deep inside him. “More than enough.”

Encouraged, embarrassed, the Beast pressed up into him on the next plunge down. Enoch crooned quietly and the Beast grabbed two handfuls of his head and did it again, harder.

Enoch let out a little strangled sound and the Beast shuddered under the wave of sun-warm satisfaction that poured out of him.

“That’s it,” Enoch hummed, tendrils quivering and petting him hungrily. “Do that again.”

The Beast matched him push for push, clutching at him as Enoch rode him.

He was so warm, so soft. There was always so much of Enoch, in the air and in the earth and all around him, but he’d never felt it like this. Enoch purred above him, and the Beast rolled with him, hissing down great big gulps of satisfaction and endless pleasure. Drunk and dizzy, he sucked caramel and liqueur out of the air and came back craving more, wanting to feel deep, dark delight press itself down his throat.

He’d never been swallowed up before. Never been taken inside of anything. It was thrilling. Terrifying. Viscerally erotic. Overwhelming, but not like being stuffed. He could only think of one thing, but he could still think.

If this is how it always felt, no wonder Enoch loved it when he took all those tendrils.

He wanted them, even now, and almost wanted them enough to coax Enoch into letting a few of them abandon the work of helping their owner ride him so they could plunge inside. But Enoch always made him climax from being filled, and the Beast would return that favor. Pride demanded it. Next time, he could get a little more creative.

The Beast shifted his grip and slipped a hand down to stroke the edges of the hole, fingertips slipping across the strange, slick place where their bodies were locked together.

Enoch dragged a soft groan through the air.

The Beast laughed softly and rolled his hips. He rubbed more firmly, watching with unbecoming excitement as the touches made Enoch tense and tremble and grind down against him, hard. Wasn’t he tasty, when he wanted everything and more? Who ever knew that the Lord of Joy would be so greedy?

“Good?”

“Oh, yes,” Enoch rumbled. “Very good.”

“You’re so slick,” the Beast purred. “And you smell like pleasure.”

“I wonder why,” Enoch replied, sparing a few tendrils to pet him. One of them slipped just its tip into one of his holes.

He gasped and reached to move it, rubbing his fingers against Enoch’s hole and giving him a few rough thrusts. Enoch let out a cry the Beast had never heard before, and the Beast wrapped a handful of his tendrils up in his fingers, tugging them hard.

Enoch mewled.

“None of that,” the Beast teased. He used the ribbons for leverage and held them taut as he thrust the branch in and out of Enoch. The branch rubbed against the sides of his fingers as he moved. His eyes burned, physically feeling himself plunging into Enoch’s wet, scorching hole, filling Enoch up. “Can’t keep those filthy things to yourself, can you?”

“E-Exactly how can I, when you’re so–” Enoch groaned as the Beast tugged his ribbons again. The other tendrils flared and quivered, petting the Beast more urgently, shifting Enoch more desperately. The pace of his riding had grown unsteady. “Oh, darling…won’t you let me…?”

“No,” the Beast crooned, stroking the edges of Enoch’s hole. “No, no, of course not. This is my turn, Harvest King. Why, you made it just for me, didn’t you, and now you’re trying to distract me from having it?”

“I…assure you, I merely–”

The Beast flicked his fingers against him and craned his neck up, nipping his fabric head.

“You wouldn’t take this beautiful little treat away from me when I haven’t even finished enjoying it, would you? When there’s so much more I want to do to it?”

Enoch shuddered and squeezed around him. The Beast grunted.

“That’s more like it,” he murmured. “So sensitive, aren’t you?”

Enoch didn’t reply. He didn’t really need to.

The Beast gave the hole a last, lingering caress, and wrapped both of his hands up in more tendrils, keeping them tight. Enoch let him shift the pace, until the Beast was pulling Enoch down on him and grinding up into him more than Enoch was riding him in any kind of focused way. Enoch spared the ribbons to coil around the Beast instead, holding him close and petting as he let the Beast pleasure him.

Enoch was quietly humming his satisfaction, stammering on music that grew slowly more frenzied as the Beast filled him and retreated, over and over again. The Beast found the thread of the music after a few tries, and hummed back, harmonizing softly beneath Enoch’s clear, warm voice.

Their voices intertwined and rippled across each other, sliding and rubbing back and forth across the air and into each other. Their bodies drove the beat, making dry and creaky and wet noises as they moved together. They didn’t attempt words, or at least the Beast didn’t, although he thought he heard the odd syllable or two groan out from deep within his neighbor.

The Beast clutched him tight and fucked him. He pushed Enoch through a long stream of arpeggios, punctuating the notes with rough motions of his hips and enjoying the way the thrusts hitched Enoch’s tone and deepened his own voice. Enoch consumed him whole and intoned a completed chord with a rumble that almost made the Beast laugh with aching desire, feeling as hot as a compost furnace, pinned down and eaten alive and drunk on sheer, alien delight. He reached down to stroke Enoch’s hole again, lightly playing with him here and giving him a firm, focused massage there.

His partner clenched on him hard, gripping him tightly, and made a long, loud noise of desperation. Enoch ground down on him, harder than ever.

“Beast!” he cried, tendrils squeezing him tight enough to make bits of wood splinter.

“Yesss,” the Beast hissed, pushing his hips up to work Enoch through the paroxysm. Dirty pride bloomed in his chest as he felt his lover come undone around him. “That’s it, Enoch. Go on. All of it.”

Enoch groaned, and the Beast murmured a soft laugh, drinking Enoch’s orgasm as it bled into the air. So lovely, when he did that. So delicious. Molasses and caramel and liqueur, sumptuous and absolutely obscene, boiled around them. Everything with a nose must know precisely what was happening to the very upstanding lord mayor of Pottsfield.

Barely having tasted this rich dessert, the Beast found himself choking on a thick beam of raw, thrilled shock as the carefully concealed teeth inside Enoch’s hole snapped out and plunged into the holes of his branch, locking him deep inside Enoch.

He didn’t stand a chance. The mere thought of it would’ve made his eyes flare, but the sudden sensation in an unexpectedly sensitive place made him arch so severely that his body creaked and he could let out only a throttled croak. His whole being yawned wide, fathomlessly deep and voracious and being fed, as light laced with Enoch’s pleasure roared down his throat and inside him. He could hardly chase the flavor across his palate, as the sheer volume of it overflowed and filled him and stuffed him with second-hand ecstasy that rapidly became his own.

When he pulled his mind together again, cobbling it back together out of the mashed ruins of the inside of his head, he felt Enoch petting him. He unclenched his grips and released the ribbons, listening to the Harvest King’s soft chuckling. He held one of the ribbons to his chest with quivering fingers.

Enoch took his up on it and unerringly found his center.

“My dear neighbor,” Enoch crooned. “After all that lovely, vigorous attention you paid me, I’m afraid I treated you shabbily. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“What?” the Beast asked, still far too drunk on the scent of them to think.

“Why, I’m talking about your poor, lovely branch.” A few tendrils wandered down by the Beast’s hips. The Beast shuddered dizzily, feeling them stroke and pet and fondle him. “Just look at the state of it.”

The Beast laboriously canted his head and looked down his body, squinting in the returning light.

His branch, gleaming slick with oil and Enoch, still stood upright from his hips, but only barely. Its bark was tattered, holes ripped into long gouges, and its looked a little less solidly attached than something that had just grown out of him should be.

He felt a rough stab of satisfaction and chuckled smugly. Enoch stroked his heart.

“Well, well,” he murmured, playing with a few of Enoch’s tendrils in his fingers. He shifted his legs, inviting Enoch to touch, if he liked. Enoch took him up on it. “I can see you enjoyed yourself, if you were so opposed to letting me go…”

“Oh, sweetheart, this is nothing. I’m amazed I ever manage to let you leave the barn,” Enoch promised.

“We’re just lucky that isn’t a permanent attachment,” the Beast said. “Imagine if it had to heal. We’d have to wait months before we could do that again.”

“What a sad thought that is, sugar,” Enoch agreed. “Especially since I’m thinking we should really get you to grow a new one in the next, oh, twenty minutes or so.”

That wasn’t a bad idea. They could see how the tendrils enhanced the experience, this time.

And if Enoch didn’t mind giving Pottsfield a very long night tonight, well, who was he to object?


End file.
